The Gates of Dawn
by The Lunar Lioness
Summary: "After all has been said and done, there will come a time when everything else is gone, and the only thing that remains will be the piper who is destined to lead us to the gates of dawn." Welcome to the 17th Hunger Games.
1. Prologue: Heaven From Hell

_"So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell, blue skies from pain._

_A smile from a veil? Do you think you can tell?"_

_**Caldisla Zanth, Capital Stylist, 26**_

* * *

Arabel is giving me that look from across the room. The one where the next words out of her mouth will be some sort of obvious comment that I could most definitely live without. Too tired to pre-empt it, I wait for the inevitable stream of words. They'll come soon. I hope so, anyway. At least it would be more interesting than watching the same shot of various tributes eating, and sleeping, and foraging, and not killing.

The biggest arena ever. That's what the Gamemakers proclaimed it as during the bloodbath. A landscape that dwarfed any previous settings for the Games twofold**.** Wide sprawling fields that would soon be covered in all of the different splatters, splotches and splashes of blood we could imagine. It would be the grandest stage of them all they swooned, trying to get us, the citizens of the Capitol suckered in like moths to a flame. Unfortunately for them, it didn't take long for the pouring rain to extinguish it.

The only good thing is that if nobody is dying, it means that Kensey isn't dying. As long as he manages to keep himself alive, my chance of being the first debut stylist to dress a victor increases along with it.

Arabel's loud sigh rips me from my thoughts of disappointment and slight acceptance. I return a sigh of my own, a lowly one to try and display my dislike of having to turn to face her, just to see her spinning back and forth on her chair. She misses it completely, of course.

"Caldisla, I'm so bored." Arabel whines, "It's been five days since the last death and eleven of them are still left! Why can't they just hurry up and kill each other already?"

I can't help but roll my eyes, my head shaking in time.

"Arabel, it's only been three days since the last death."

"That one doesn't count! He slipped and smacked his head off a rock, no one killed him, the idiot killed himself!

That 'idiot' was Kensey's ally, it's so nice of you to remember that Arabel. I take a deep breath to help push down my annoyance, it lets me turn my attention back the question that started this.

"Anyway, the reason deaths have been so hard to come by is simply because the arena is too big. All of the tributes are too far apart for there to be any drama." I feel like a mother explaining to her child why we can't have the object of their desires.

"Why can't they just force them together then? It would certainly be a lot more entertaining." Arabel plays the role of child a bit too well if you ask me. The pouty lips and the crossed arms are the little details that make her performance.

"I don't know Arabel, they'll probably have to try that soon. I can't believe President Bryce is happy watching this, especially when nobody in the Capitol is happy watching this." Irritation is beginning to slip into my voice, understandably of course. This is my debut games as a stylist, an event I have dreamed of ever since I saw the first Games.

My memories of that year are anything but clear, if I'm being honest. The arena, the tributes, the Games themselves; they're all just a vague blur in my head. It happened, that's all I really know.

All of the costumes, on the other hand, remain the same images of fantasy, as clear to me as they were when I first saw them. Glossy suits covered in rich rubies for District One, flowing cloaks woven from crisp copper-coloured wires for District Five, dark and dreary miner overalls for District Twelve. There was so much coal dust on the District Twelve tributes that as their chariot went pass, a thick black cloud was left in their wake, leaving those in front three rows covered in a layer of deep, dark dust.

At the interviews, I didn't see tributes. I saw princes in gorgeous three piece suits and princesses in elegant flowing gowns.

Compared to the later years, these costumes and outfits were so plain. So plain, but still, so beautiful. Nothing else has ever came close to the timeless air they carried.

Saying that, Kensey had done well with my creations, even if he wasn't who I would have picked if I had the choice. Nevertheless, he did what I asked him to well but still, I couldn't achieve the timeless air I desire.

For they were the first, and everything that has came after has been left in their endless shadow from which the light is an unreachable destination.

I had always hoped I could be the one to take them back into the light, my designs would capture the imagination of little girls just like it had for me fifteen years ago.

Thinking about it, it's really quite funny. I mean, I have the nerve to accuse Arabel of being childish and yet here I am, not being able to let go of my own youthful desires. My desire to be a stylist, my desire to create outfits, my desire for these outfits to forever remain embedded in the hearts and minds of the audience at home.

The two of us really are nothing more than children, sitting here in our bedclothes with near empty tubs of ice cream, which by now are more cream than ice, laying on our laps as we wait for the Games to truly begin again.

How mature of us.

"Caldisla! Caldisla! Look! Something's about to happen!"

"I swear, if this is another look at those fluffy bird mutts, I'm going to go to that field and…." I trail off. What was I going to say? It doesn't really matter, especially not when the person who is currently filling up my screen is the focus of attention.

"Hey, that's Kensey, isn't it? He's not really done much so far, I wonder why they're focusing on him."

She mustn't be able to see it. It's in the background, lurking towards him, stepping slowly as not to wake him. How could he have thought it was a good idea to not only fall asleep but on the forest floor of all places? Talk about living up to the District Seven stereotype.

"Do you have any ideas Caldisla?"

Arabel must be able to see the figure now can't she? It's right there, creeping from tree trunk to tree trunk, getting closer to Kensey with every passing moment. Every time it moves, you can see the light shining off something in its hand for just a second before it disappears behind another thick trunk. Something sharp and metallic.

"Caldisla? Caldisla? Hey, Caldisla?"

Soon it will be upon Kensey, who is somehow still sleeping soundly. His head curled and resting on his shoulder, completely unaware of the thing that wants nothing more than his blood. Within moments, it will be there, standing over him with the its fingers gripped tightly around the glinting object, ready to stain the metal with his warm blood.

"What is wrong with you, Caldisla? Stop ignoring me!"

Something's stuck in my throat. I want to swallow down this, this fear, this anxiety but the walls of my throat are too dry. Too dry to swallow, too dry to speak.

I want to scream. I want to scream so loud that Kensey will hear it, because the thing is only a few steps away from him now, and he still hasn't moved an inch.

"Caldisla!"

He can't do this to me, he was my first tribute. I spent years working on the designs for my debut year, so many nights spent drawing and visualizing costumes and outfits in pure anticipation.

And this is how Kensey repays me for all of my hard work, by laying there with eyes closed as the figure gazes down on him, trying to build up the nerve to kill him. After a few seconds, it swallows and powers the dagger through his chest.

The cannon follows moments later.

Suddenly, something cold and hard strikes my cheek. I look down onto my lap to see what hit me, what greets me is a spoon covered in the remains of ice cream.

"Caldisla."

Looking up, I see Arabel standing in front of her chair with her hands on hips and a defined pout on her lips.

"It's rude not to give people an answer when they've asked you a question, you know."

I say nothing.

I don't know what to say.

My eyes are beginning to burn and my throat is still dry and I do not want to be here with Arabel.

I launch myself up from my chair, both of my feet hitting the ground with a sudden thump. I turn away from my friend before opening my mouth, using every bit of my will to keep my voice sounding steady.

"I'm going to my room. I'm really tired and…. I want to sleep. You can stay for as long as you want. Just, make sure to lock the door when you leave."

I can hear Arabel calling my name from behind me but I don't respond. My brisk walk turns into a run the closer I get to my bedroom. Soon enough, I am inside my own personal space. Light is flooding in from over my head, casting the whole room in a soft, mellow glow. The source being the wide open double doors that allowed me to enter in the first place.

Using everything I have left to slam them shut again, the only thing I can do is turn the lock before I collapse onto the floor with my back against the door and my hands wrapped around my knees.

The light can only drip in from underneath the door now, giving me a lovely look of my legs, and my tears.

Deep breaths, in and out, in and out. It's not helping, it's not distracting from the truth.

Kensey is dead.

The boy who was chatting away with my assistants as they followed my plans to the letter is dead.

The prince who did my interview outfit justice is dead.

Kensey is dead, and he isn't coming back.

Right now, I would give everything I have; my job, my money, my house. I would give all of it if it could bring him back.

There is only one desire I now possess and it is one I can not have.

For all I wish is that he was here.

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**A/N: Hello, this is my new story, The Gates of Dawn which is my second attempt at a SYOT. I've had my one false start and I swear I'll get this one finished for no other reason than I want to have a completed a SYOT.**

**The form is on my profile along with some things to keep in mind. The deadline is the 31st of December although it could be earlier if I think I have all the tributes I need.**

**I'll be posting a second prologue before Christmas and a third prologue which will include tribute lists and blog links and the like on the day I close submissions.**

**And with that, I hope any of my writing above made you want to submit to me, I'm so excited to see what you all come up.**

**I'll hopefully see you in a week or so~**

**-Luna**


	2. Prologue: Heroes for Ghosts

**Warning: Strong language will most likely be used in this story at certain points such as in this chapter. If that makes you uncomfortable, then feel free to leave.**

* * *

_"Did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts? Hot ashes for trees? _

_Hot air for a cool breeze? Cold comfort for change?"_

**_Murron Arden, Avox, 21 _**

* * *

It is times like these when I wish I could speak. Being an Avox, working for the Capital as a slave, even never seeing my District again, I would probably be able to handle all of it. As a punishment, it would be enough for me. Obviously, it wasn't enough for the Capital but when is anything enough for those greedy pigs? I digress, the rainbow-skinned people had to take something else from me, so they took my identity.

Murron Arden no longer exists for the world to see. To everyone now, I am simply Avox.

Which is unfortunate, because for some reason, all I want to do is comfort the girl on the other side of the door. I want to tell her that it will all be okay and that she will have another chance next year to bring someone back. That first thing wouldn't help though, because there's no such thing as okay for a victor. You can't come out of the Games and be okay.

It doesn't really matter though because I can't do the second thing either. I am nothing more than a simple Avox.

Even then, something inside me wants to try. Something inside me dares to help. Speaking lies is better than saying nothing, it's better than just standing outside, it's better than doing nothing except knocking slightly and slightly harder. I can't get inside if she doesn't let me in. There's no way I can ask her though.

The only voice I have now is in my head, and that cannot help Edea.

My only job was to change the bed linen on District Seven's floor. Simple, I could be in and out before anyone noticed. In and out. It would be simple, if the door wasn't locked. Which it unfortunately was. And still is.

Avoxes aren't trusted with keys to the rooms. I wonder why, are they afraid of us leaving little mint chocolates on their pillows with just the slightest hint of lethal poison for good measure? How should I know? I'm just an Avox now.

Avoxes are not allowed keys because we don't need them. No one locks their doors during the day, especially during the Games. Mentors are typically at the Center watching their tributes and if they're not there, they go to the large lounge to drink and chat with one another.

They don't go to their rooms because that means being alone and none of them, not even those from the Capital - the ones' who chose to be here - want to be alone. Not when the blood of this year's fallen is still on fresh on their hands.

Obviously that can't be true though, Edea's fingers are still dripping crimson and yet, here she is, in her own room, crying her tired eyes out all by herself. If this carries on for too long, who knows, maybe she won't have any tears left. Alas, I suppose there must be always been an exception to a rule before it can be proven.

Her sobs are loud. The kind that take over your entire body. They rack her body with unrivaled force. They make her voice morph into an unrecognizable noise that is one part grief and two parts agony. It always reaches the point when everything burns; her swollen eyes, the red streaks of tears still pouring down her face, the chasm in her chest where her heart is suppose to lay. All of it burns. A never ending pain that even after years have past, will continue to smolder at the frayed edges of her being.

Something stirs within me, a familiar sensation that I thought had been lost along with Murron Arden. I feel my lips quirking up in a lopsided smirk as I acknowledge what has happened. Sympathy has returned to me and with it comes a sense of who I was. Before the Capital caught me. For it's impossible to feel sympathy for those who complain about how the deaths aren't gory enough and how they make fun of the little 13 year old from District Five for crying. He will never see his family, his friends, his home again. Excuse him for not smiling when he's picked to die if you uncaring creatures could be so kind.

That is one thing the Capitol will never be able to take from me. My hatred for them is still lit and I will never let it waver.

Without warning, the familiar ding of the elevator floats towards me from down the corridor. A voice cuts in, a voice that is loud, feminine and as far as I could tell, extremely pissed off.

From the landing, two figures emerge, a man and a woman who start walking towards me, both of them being too engaged in conversation to notice me. As they continue to move up the hall, I take a few steps back from the door which isn't exactly doing a good job in muffling Edea's cries.

Since we're the only people on the floor and the woman's voice is anything but sweet and docile, it's easy to hear what they're speaking about.

"I told you this would happen Irving, it happens every single year!"

"Well, Edea told me she would be able to handle it a lot better this year. You have to admit that she dealt with the girl's death a whole lot better than she normally does."

The woman's scoff can probably be heard in the arena.

"Yeah, but where is she now? Back in her room, crying her eyes out, just like, umm, let me see here… oh yeah, every other year since Edea became a victor."

Turning her back to me in order to face her accomplice, the woman manages to walk backwards with an unusual amount of grace, like she's done it a hundred times before.

"You need to stop living in denial, Irving. We both know what will happen eventually. Edea will walk into that room and never walk out."

Suddenly, they stop. The man's face, which I now recognise, is twisted into something odd. I'm unable to tell if it's anger, denial, ignorance or another emotion that I've forgotten how to read. He stays still for a few seconds, thinking over the correct response. When he looks up to reply, he catches me staring straight at him. For a second, his entire face is one of confusion. The blonde must have noticed this momentary lapse of composure as she whips herself around to face whatever he's looking at it; her hair falls quickly onto her shoulders. Looking me up and down as if she's sizing me up, she forgoes a quizzical expression in favor of a much more direct approach.

"Excuse me, but what the fuck are you doing here?"

So this is Lorelai Verdant, the only Victor from District Ten. She seems to be as brutally sarcastic and uncouth as I've heard, and being on the receiving end of her glare isn't exactly a pleasant experience.

Dark eyes show a persona that was forged in the Games. They are as cold and fierce as any Victor could wish them to be.

Perhaps the man wouldn't want his gaze to be like that. His name is Irving Mannus, the only male Victor from District Nine. I can see him in the background, although the only part I can focus on are his brown eyes. They seem to radiate warmth and serenity. Eventually, he steps forward and puts a hand on Lorelai's shoulder although she seems determined in her attempts to glare me into dust.

"Lorelai, leave her be. She's an Avox, she must have been here to clean the room or something, right, Miss?"

I nod slowly. Lorelai is edging closer and I'm afraid any sudden movement might set her off. The female victor looks me up and down again before she decides to stare straight at me.

Somehow, I can't look away, my mind is being checked for weakness. If I fail, then my fate is to become nothing more than her prey.

Fortunately, it only takes a few moments for Lorelai to stop scrutinizing me. She makes another scoff before turning to the door, her eyebrows knit together as she finally listens clearly to the still-ongoing sobs. A tired sigh parts from her lips.

"I'll try first."

Lorelai steps forward to the door and knocks gently on it. Once, twice, three times before she speaks.

"Edea, come and open the door."

No response, Lorelai knocks three times again

"Edea, I need you to open the door for me."

The sobs still carry on, sounding more heart-broken with every passing minute. Frustration is clearly building inside Lorelai, her nose scrunched up when it clear became Edea wasn't coming. After a deep breath, she had another go at it.

"Miss?"

I turn towards Irving, hoping he hadn't see me flinch. People don't address me as Miss, I have no name to follow after it. If anyone else did call me that, it would simply be Miss. Or if they were trying to be funny, Miss Avox could be a thing.

"I think you should go do something else, it might be a while before we can convince Edea to open the door."

I nod again, hoping it can convey 'Yes, I understand.' instead of just 'Yeah'. Irving must have known what I meant as he smiles at me like no one has in years. Murron Arden would have been proud to get a smile like that.

"How about you go clean my room? I'll come and get you when Edea's out of the room, and don't worry about getting in trouble with the superiors, I'll explain it to them. I'm sure it will all be fine."

He's smiling again, I can feel myself wanting to smile back but I can't. Why should I smile? No one has treated me with kindness or smiled at me, most people just ignore me. The only ones who bother to notice me are the ones that wish to poke fun at me. Feelings have started to bubble inside of me, feelings that I can't express, except in one way.

Again, I nod. I wait for some sort of confirmation from Irving who chooses to return a nod to me, that dumb smile still on his face. I take off past him, as fast as I dare. The feelings continue to boil, they're getting close to the surface. My footsteps along with Lorelai's knocks echo down towards the elevator, filling the floor with a solemn beat.

By the time I've reached the landing, I'm slightly out of breath. My ragged breaths, along with the rapid pressing of the elevator button, create a new sound, one which carries more connections to panic and worry. When the elevator ding arrives, it creates the perfect cadence to the tune.

I enter the box and press the button labeled with number Nine. The doors shut, but I'm still struggling to breath as it lurches up. Everything that has happened in the past however many minutes; Edea's sobs, Lorelai's glare, Irving's smile, it all has me yearning to be Murron Arden again.

All these feelings I spent ages shoving to the back of my mind have engulfed me. They are drowning me, these ideas of wanting my voice back, of wanting my identity back.

They are causing me to choke on the air filling my lungs because I still can't accept it.

My fingers are dragging into my scalp as I struggle for oxygen in a room filled with my hopeless dreams and desires. I know it won't happen, I know all I will ever be now is Avox but I can't fully accept it as the truth.

To this day, I still find myself wishing she was here.

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** A/N: Hello again, this is the second prologue to the Gates of Dawn. In this one, we're introduced to a few of the victors who will have appearances later on as mentors so, that's a thing.**

**They are still plenty of spaces open so feel free to submit where you wish. I'll still be updating it with the tribute list and third prologue on 31st or the 1st, I haven't decided which one yet.**

**I haven't mentioned this because I felt like I didn't need to although it turns out that I do. Don't be upset with me if your tribute doesn't get accepted or dies early. These are the chances you take when you submit to SYOTs so it should really come as no surprise if your tribute dies.**

**Reviewing is always appreciated and it lets me know who is reading which is a factor when deciding the placements of tributes, just saying.**

**Okay then, I'll see you in a week and a bit and I hope you have a happy holiday where ever you are~**

**-Luna**


	3. Prologue: Same Old Fears

_"We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year, Running over the same old ground._

_What have we found? The same old fears. Wish you were here."_

_**Blair Charlton, 13, Child**_

* * *

Living is hard. Living is difficult and confusing. Living is a very tricky thing to get right. Especially when someone, the person who was supposed to guide you is no longer there to hold your hand.

They think that they are making my existence easier when they give me sympathy, when they tell me their condolences and all of these lovely stories of someone they have never known. To be fair, it doesn't make things easier for me, although it does make things easier for them. It makes their living an easier thing to do.

The people surrounding me need to repeat it to themselves over and over again. Every single hour of the day, the same exact words must be repeated in their minds.

I am alive, and I am human.

It's only because of this need I've allowed it continue on for the past year. The sad smile from the shopkeeper as she hands the bag over the counter which makes it clear she's put extra food in it. The pitying glances from my classmates as they turn back around to catch another look when they think I'm not paying attention. My own mother and father as they pat me on the shoulder with those now irreplaceable glassy eyes that cannot help but stare into me.

No one looks at me for Blair anymore. They look at me for Kensey because they don't know where else to look for him.

I was never close to him. He was my brother, yes, but that doesn't mean we were close. Do I regret that now? Part of me does, I suppose it's only natural to want what I can't have. A larger part of me doesn't though. He's gone and it's only right that I accept it. I'm not the only sibling in this District that lost someone to the Games last year. For the girl and her siblings, it's only right I accept the death of one of my own just like they had to.

I'm aware of how awful this sounds although that won't stop me from saying it. The truth is, I can't wait for these Games to begin. I can't wait to see that monster of an escort reach their twisted hand into the bowls and pick out two new names. It's simple why; their families will be a whole lot more grateful for the sympathy of District Seven than I ever was.

It will be someone else's duty to keep those few shreds of humanity alive in the despairing lumberjacks.

At this moment, I want nothing more than to get on with my life. For the past year, I've lived under the shadow of my only brother's ghost. Perhaps now he will leave me be. He doesn't have to worry about me forgetting him. It's true what they say about people when they are gone.

Even if it was someone you never thought much about before, you spend a second of every day thinking about them when they are no longer here. You can't help it. Something will make itself known; a smell, a touch, a sound, a sight, a taste. A feeling. Something that can't help but remind you of them.

This place does. The center of District Seven. The last sight of his home that Kensey ever saw.

Last year is still fresh in my mind. The sun shone as bright as it could through the layer of thick clouds. There was a breeze that had a playful edge to it. Obviously, the weather wasn't aware that this day out all of them was Reaping Day.

It was my first Reaping Day inside of the fence. No longer was I on the edge with my parents, it was my turn to take stead in the pen. Nervousness riled within me as I walked to my designated place. All the boys beside me were feeling the same way. They all had no idea what they would do if their name was called. I'm guessing they would cry; that's what I would have done anyway.

Our Victor, Miss Edea Oban hadn't broken down by the end of the mayor's speech, something which was a change from the normal routine. She sat in her chair, her back straight up against it with an unusual look of determination in her face. Her eyes were still teary but they were not going to falter now.

The girl whose name was called made sure to cover the amount of tears for her. She stood on the stage and cried her eyes out, so much so you could barely hear Kensey's name being called.

I didn't feel anything. Sadness, anger, denial, I felt none of it as he walked up to the stage. In fact, all I did when Kensey was struggling to keep himself together for both his district partner and mentor was think back to what he'd said when we stepped into the reaping area together for the first, and last time.

"You'll be fine Blair. There's no point worrying about, I'm sure you'll be fine by the end of it."

I'll be fine at the end of my reapings will I? All I need to go is get through these ones and I will come out all fine and dandy. Ha, I look forward to the end of it all Kensey, I look forward to it because I know I will prove you wrong.

Thinking of it in that way though does mean I don't need to remember this Reaping Day. It's just one more out of seven I will go through. I think I will still remember it. For Kensey. He is now as synonymous to the Reaping Day for me as the mayor's speech. A playful breeze or a cloud covered sun, it all reminds me of him.

Despite accepting the fact my brother is gone, part of me will always wish for him to be here standing beside me as we watch the sun streak across the sky, leaving nothing but a trail of light in its wake.

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_**Song used for Prologues : "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd.**_

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**I just want to let you know that choosing tributes was difficult. If your tribute didn't make it, don't feel disheartened. It was probably just not right for this story but you never know, it might be right for another. If your tribute did make it, then well done. You now have to put up with me for 6 months to a year. Won't that be fun? Acceptance PMs will be sent out tomorrow so yeah, here's the list.**

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**Tribute List**

**District One**

Male: Drew Marchand, 16

Female: Adelle Charmaine, 18

**District Two**

Male: Emmanuel Prime, 17

Female, Guinevere Garner, 18

**District Three**

Male: Desmond Wallace, 18

Female: Varia Almilla, 15

**District Four**

Male: Serif Miranda, 16

Female: Erin Levere, 15

**District Five**

Male: Reigh Vallore, 18

Female: Luminessa Rosen, 16

**District Six**

Male: Nassau Viero, 15

Female: Kenna Ariadne, 18

**District Seven**

Male: Cadmius Amerait, 17

Female: Corinne Forsette, 17

**District Eight**

Male: Vince Ortega, 13

Female: Carney Herrone, 15

**District Nine**

Male: Jericho Garner, 12

Female: Elsie Neiland, 13

**District Ten**

Male: Loras Adler, 18

Female: Liette Iona, 17

**District Eleven**

Male: Adric Lemar, 18

Female: Jasmine Knowles, 17

**District Twelve**

Male: Augustin Pyre, 15

Female: Minthe Avenal, 15

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**The blog is up as well. It's linked on my profile but I'll post the link here as well.**

w w w. gatesofdawnhg. blogspot. c o . u k

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**If you made it this far down, I'm impressed. Here's a couple of questions for ya:**

_**1\. Which tributes are your favorites from the blog?**_

_**2\. Which one of the prologues was your favourite?**_

**Okay, I think that's it. I hope you all have a lovely New Year and I hope you are looking forward to seeing where The Gates of Dawn go.**

**I'll see ya when I see ya~**

**Edit: Okay, there was more than a couple mistakes with the blog. Elsie's post had Augustin's weaknesses so I've changed that now. If they are any other mistakes, then tell me. I'm sure it won't be hard to find them.**

**Also, I'm in a need of a permanent beta reader. I don't want anyone who has a tribute in the story to do it but if you guys have any suggestions about who wouldn't mind beta-ing a SYOT, I'll be glad to take them.**

**-Luna**


	4. Pre-Reapings: Afraid of Tomorrow

**Pre-Reapings; Afraid of Tomorrow**

_"So do you want to waste some time, Oh, oh tonight?_

_Don't be afraid of tomorrow, Just take my hand, I'll make it feel so much better tonight."_

* * *

**_Drew Marchand, District One Male, 16_**

* * *

Saturdays always manage to put me in just the shittiest of moods.

Especially this one, because all of the Saturdays I've been force to live though in the past sixteen years, this is the only who's weather could possibly be described as a severe rainstorm. That, in all of its pounding rain and thundering glory, set the mood perfectly for the rest of the day.

It probably would have been a crappy day anyway, the familiar feeling that predates the unavoidable shit had already settled in inside me before my eyes had even lifted.

It's just nice to know the world has stopped trying to be coy about its opposition towards me. Oh, how it must enjoy to watching me suffer.

That must be the reason it's forcing me through this; the only familial tradition my parents bother to execute. Once a week, we all gather around the table and eat our dinner together. By together, I mean at the same table. For there is no talking, there is no discussion about what we've done today or the day before. We sit at the same table, four strangers who just happen to be related.

Every single Saturday.

Poking the half-finished food that remains on my plate, I can feel my face turning in disgust at the thought of eating the rest. Well, at least the expression can't make me look any worse. The genes of my parents have already let me achieve rock bottom when it comes to beauty of the face.

However, the remnants of vegetables and meat could fuel my dissatisfaction if let them. I won't though. My features, I cannot control but my weight I can. To a point.

Bile rises up the walls of my throat as the panic within me burns. My jaw clenches as my insecurities begin to pile up one after the other.

The screeching noise that passes for my voice.

The bland, yet unbelievably annoying thing that just happens to be my personality.

The faceless mob that claims to be my friends. Every single one of them must talk behind my back. They can't like me for my joyous attitude, such a thing doesn't exist. They must have some people they complain about my problems to.

I suppose it's good that I don't count them as my friends either. They are nothing more than rungs of a ladder beneath my feet and hands, one I no longer need them to hold on to, they can fall away for all I care.

Popularity is a pointless, fleeting sensation, but still, that doesn't mean I don't yearn for it. Life is truly easier from the top, and that is why I wish to be there.

Only now do I loosen the tight grip that held my fork for the past few minutes, I turn it around in my hand and stick it straight through a few stray bits of pasta on the side of the plate. Raising it to up and into my mouth, I close my lips around it before sliding it out and placing it gently back onto my plate.

While chewing the food as slowly as I can, my eyes fleet between the three strangers at the table.

My mother, my father, my brother. They each continue to eat as if they are the lone being at the table.

A silent sigh passes my lips as a breath I didn't know I was holding in is let out back into the air.

None of them noticed my inner turmoil rise, and none of them noticed it fall. Good. Them not knowing makes my life easier. My weakness is kept only to myself, no one else can know.

I won't let anyone else know.

Suddenly, the clinking of cutlery breaks the harsh silence that had formed around us. Out of the corner of my eye, to my right, I see my mother wiping around her mouth with a napkin. When she lowers it from her face, a familiar smile is placed on her lips. One which means I'll be forced to listen to her ramble on about something.

By something, I mean training. When it comes to me and Chance, all she wants to talk about is training. All she wants us to do is train. For she desires the prestige of being the mother of a victor. Deluded bitch.

"Chance." Her tone is unusually sweet, nevertheless, it be false sweetness. Soon enough, it will fall away.

"Yes Mother?" Although, that doesn't mean that little shit won't use it to his advantage. He's talking to her but he's looking at me, a smile just as sweet as Mother's, and just as fake. I can see the smirk in his eyes perfectly clear, the thoughts running through his head.

_I can't wait to rub this in your face again. You are aware I'm the favourite, aren't you Drew?_

I can't count how many times I've wished to have been born an only child.

"How has training been this past week?" It still carries the overly sweet tone, so sweet in fact it's hard to resist the urge to throw up.

"It's been good. At this rate, I think I'll be ready to volunteer when I turn 18."

"Hmph."

Here it comes. It's impossible to keep Mother happy, unless she was granted with immeasurable fame and riches. Even then, I would be surprised if she didn't find something to complain about. She always does.

"You think you'll be ready? You think? No, you don't think, you know. If you just think, then you are either not trying hard enough or, more likely, that trainer your Father employed simply isn't good enough."

"Excuse me, that trainer is one of the best in the District."

My father only attempts conversation when it concerns him. If it's not about him, he doesn't care. No wonder him and Mother got married, it seems to be quite easy to love yourself. Everyone I know would say that is my forte.

"So? That doesn't matter, he's still not good enough. If you really cared about training a victor, then you would have employed someone who has trained one."

That spluttering sound is most likely my father choking on air. Again. A quick glance to my left confirms it.

"Do you not understand how much he costs? Ever since Ezekiel won, families have thrown thousands at that guy to train their children. We can't afford it!"

"That doesn't matter! When one of them wins, we'll be able to pay for entire academies in District One!"

I say nothing, I just let them continue back and forth. Let them carry on their idiotic argument, I don't need to sit through another one.

Pushing my chair out from under the table and picking up my plate in the same movement, I catch Chance's eye before I move my feet.

There was something there I haven't seen before; an undecipherable emotion that was gone as quickly as it came.

I pay no heed to it and walk out of the room into the open door, passing my father in the process.

Somehow, they are still arguing when I've reached the mirror that is hung in the corridor which connects the kitchen and dining room. Looking into it, I see a boy who can no longer stand being here.

Who can no longer stand living in this house. Living in this District. Living.

What I see in the mirror is the expression of someone who just made a decision.

The decision that we have them all remembering his name.

* * *

_**Corinne Forsette, District Seven Female, 17**_

* * *

"Corinne, I'm being serious, I am not doing it." To think people call me stubborn, have they not met Bernard? I'm not saying I am not stubborn, that has truth to it, I'm just saying that he's stubborn as well and I don't think it's right that I get all of the attention for it.

"But you said you would."

Now's the time to share the appreciation between the two of us.

"I didn't say that! You are making that up." He's trying to stare me down and it's taking everything I have not burst out laughing because I can see him trying not to smile and it looks like the corner of his face is having a moment to itself.

Of course I'm not going to be the first one to laugh. No chance.

"I am not making that up. You said to me, 'Corinne, I'm going to go and jump across roofs with you.'."

My hands were moving all over the place. Erratic and dramatic, but he still isn't laughing.

"When was this, since y'know, I mustn't have been there or forgotten about it because didn't it actually happen." Typical snark, just what I expect. Unknown to him, I already have this snitched.

"Yes it did, it happened…. last Sunday?" I reply, making sure the notes of uncertainty are obvious.

"See! You don't even know. Reyna, please back me up on this!" Even though he sounded annoyed, the wide smile on Bernard's face was clear to see. Reyna looks up impassively at the mention of her name, her eyes half lidded as if she was just awoken from a deep sleep. Very rarely does she get involved when we start to go at each other; she just waits it out until we go on another one of our adrenaline chases.

We always find a way to get our fix.

"Hey, I've already done it so anytime, anywhere, I'll be up for it." Reyna's deadpan tone has always hid her desire well. It's easy to think she isn't interested in anything even if that's not the truth. It's more that she keeps her focus only on the things she truly wants.

All three of us love adventure. No wonder we're all friends.

Friends to the ends of days. Our days.

"Such a great help as always, Reyna." Our friend gives him a sarcastic thumbs-up in recognition before she returns to her stare off with the sky. Bernard returns his attention back to me, his face the picture of defeat. The bright grin across my face is uncontrollable and excepted so I do nothing to hold it back.

"See Bernard, you've been outvoted 2 to 1."

Continuing to hold onto my cheery expression, I pat him on the shoulder, a sign that he should give up now, stop wasting our time so we can go jump some roofs before the night is through.

Soon though, it's becomes clear that not even the pat is enough to truly convince him as Bernard still hasn't given me an answer. My face scrunches up as I rack my brain trying to think of a sure-fire to sweet talk him into this.

The final part of the sale is always the hardest.

Before too long, I've figured out what I wanted to say. Hopefully, it will do the trick.

"C'mon, we've done more dangerous things. This is like medium level for us."

The first thing I get is a look. What it means I don't know but I suppose it's better than nothing. After a few moments, Bernard releases a sigh which lets a contented smile grew across his features. His mouth moves to make a sound and I'm leaning forward slightly which is the reason I almost hit the ground when a voice comes out of nowhere from behind me; a voice which sounds extraordinarily bored.

"Corinne. Don't you have to be home for like six?"

Taking a deep breath to regain my composure and to help stop the increasing redness of my face, I turn around to face Reyna who has managed to get two feet behind me without me noticing. A mixture of quizzical expression and slight annoyance has taken over my face; the first because I don't why she asked that question and the second because I absolutely hate it when she sneaks up on me.

"Yeah, why?" I reply, not really knowing what to expect back.

"Because it's literally just turned eight." Her deadpan of a voice makes it sounds like a joke but this is Reyna who doesn't tell jokes which means just one thing.

I am screwed.

With speed I didn't know I possessed, I took off down the street, turning my head around to shout back to my two bewildered friends

"I'll see you guys tomorrow! Gotta go and apologize to my Mum!"

Running my tongue around my lips as I run up and down and left and right, trying to remember the quickest way home. I almost hit about ten people and I might have knocked over an old lady but I honestly can't remember and for now at least, they are more pressing matters at hand like how I do live to see tomorrow.

Eventually, after running through what feels like the whole of District Seven, I arrive at my house, puffing and panting as I'm failing to catch any remnants of the breath that has now left a trail right to me. I walk around the side of the house so I can reach the fence that hides our back garden from view.

Grabbing the top with both of my hands, I pull myself up and swing my legs over. With a soft thump, I land safely although it wasn't even really an issue. Our back door is always open; we only shut it once everyone is in the house which means it should be open now and I should hopefully be safe. I open the door quietly, pleasantly pleased with my plan.

"Hello, Corinne."

The pleasant feeling disappears instantly. Mum is standing at the sink, washing the dishes. I know it was my turn Mum, you don't need to make me feel any worse by doing it for me.

My plate is still on the table, still in front of the chair which should have seated me.

"Did you have fun with your friends?" Mum's voice isn't accusing or sarcastic. It's just curious.

"I did, yes," I say cautiously.

Turning back to the dishes, the silence is left to hang between us for a few moments before my Mum lets it down gently.

"That's good. Now hurry up and eat your dinner before your Dad gets home."

I take my place at the table quietly and begin eating the now cold food, but I don't complain.

People have it a lot worse so I shouldn't complain.

I have an understanding mother and friends who have no problem with me being me.

I really couldn't ask for anything else.

* * *

_**Jericho Garner, District Nine Male, 12**_

* * *

"Jericho! Make sure you get the right number of forks this time!" Lennox's familiar chiding voice just manages to reach me. He's in the living room, setting up the old, rickety table and placing the plates for all eight of us. Normally, he would be setting up ten spaces but both of my parents are out working and won't be home until long after of all my younger brothers and sisters are asleep.

Which makes Lennox, as the oldest, in charge. I'm the third-oldest so I have a little bit of authority over the others. Not much though, I'm still just a kid. A kid who happens to not be the youngest.

It's awfully quiet as I down the hall, both of my hands each gripping four forks tightly. Never is the house this quiet. There can only be two reasons; they are all outside or they are all sleeping. Or worse, all of them are up to something. Hopefully it's not another of Roland's ideas; everything he comes up with is a disaster waiting to strike.

Maybe after I'm done helping to set the table, I'll go and find my siblings. Make sure they aren't up to no good.

Lennox's face lights up a tiny bit when he sees me stroll into the largest room in the house; a combination living room, dining room and bedroom. Currently, it is being used for the second, nevertheless as soon as we're finished eating, I imagine we'll have to get all organised for the latter.

"You've brought eight, right?" My oldest sibling's face is a bit apprehensive, ready to dismiss me for miscounting them and having to run back and get the rest. With a smile on my face, I raise my hands so he can see them clearly, twisting them back and forth just to make sure he knows I've got them all.

"Yes, sir."

Lennox lets his features soften and a small laugh emerges from within him.

"Alright Jericho, I can see them. Well done, little brother."

I lay them on the table so Lennox can count them properly, eight forks all in a pile. It only takes him a few seconds yet my mind has already began to wonder, wonder about what I will do next. I don't want to be sitting around doing nothing until dinner is ready, so what do I do until then? I suppose I'll just have to find out. Biting my lip as if it can somehow make me think better, I stare at this specific spot of the ceiling where the evidence of Logan managing to throw his dinner to an impressive height at the age of four remains.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lennox turning to face me, I return him the favour.

"Okay, they're all there. If you're looking for something to do, you could go and gather the rest of the children and tell them to come to the dining room. The stew will be ready to eat in like 10 minutes so, you might as well just send them through now."

Quickly, I nod to Lennox. I want to go and do this now, I'm sure I can find them all in 10 minutes. It'll be no problem for me. "Okay, I can do that."

A swift nod to help reaffirm my confidence to my brother. With that, my feet take me out of the room and away down the hallway. Thinking about the right way to attack finding my siblings and deciding if I should go find the twins first or Freda who is looking after Logan causes me to bump into something that's just above waist-height. I look down to see Bryson, one of the numerous middle children in our family.

He looks up to me with a neural expression and guarded eyes. Bryson has always been different. More reserved, more quiet, more thoughtful. He doesn't fit in, but, that doesn't mean we don't try to help him feel loved.

"Oh, sorry about that Jericho, I didn't see you. Before you say it, I'm going to the dining room now, Freda's with Logan in her room and Millie and Celina are in theirs. I'll see you when you come for dinner."

I can't help but smile. Just because he isn't really the same as the rest of us doesn't mean he's worse off, in fact, it might make him better. Bryson is different in the best sort of way.

When he's staring at me with that look that only Bryson can do, I know for sure in my heart I wouldn't have him any other way.

"I'll see you at dinner, Bryson."

The nine year-old glides past me without a second's notice, making his way down the hall from which I just came. It only takes a few steps to reach the small room Freda shares with Logan.

Pushing the door open slightly, the sight of a laughing Logan playing some sort of clapping game with his big sister greets me. The youngest manages to catch the movement of the opening door and immediately points towards me, drawing Freda's attention.

"Jeri!" I don't know if he'll ever learn to say my name properly.

"Jericho! What are you going here? Me and Logan are just playing a game together."

Freda constantly tries to keep up with her older brothers; me, Lennox, and Roland. Even though I'm only just over a year older than her, she looks up to me especially for some reason. I don't know why and Logan is just Logan.

Going back over what I just thought, a realisation comes upon me. I still need to find Roland and if he's not where he normally is, I will probably be out until next year trying to find him.

Unexpectedly, an idea strikes me, one which makes me glad Freda has the same kind of enthusiasm as me.

"Hey Freda, do you want to do me a favour?"

"Yes! I'll do it!" She really is just like me, she doesn't even know what it is and she's signing up for it without a moment's hesitation.

"I need you to take Logan, Celina and Millie to the living room. Dinner's being served really soon and I need to go out and find Roland. Do you think you can do that?"

A bright, enthusiastic smile makes it obvious what her answer will be.

"Of course! Logan, we have to go and get Celina and Millie, okay? And then we're going to have dinner!"

Grabbing her smallest sibling's hand and practically lifting him off the ground, Freda races out of the door with Logan behind her.

For some reason, I don't really feel like I'm in any rush to go and get Roland. He's like a cat I guess, he'll come home when he's hungry. Instead, I just look out of the small window that provides the only light in the box room. Through the plain glass, all you can see are fields of grain stretching out as far as the eye can see. A sea of browns and yellows that is strangely entrancing.

It is rather boring, the colours are the exact same shades and tone and it goes on for what seems like an eternity.

Despite that, I don't want to live everywhere else.

Anything can be beautiful to look at as you have your family by your side.

Right now, those golden fields are the most beautiful thing I will ever see.

* * *

**A/N: Hello again~ So basically before the Games, everyone's going to get two POVs so we can all get a good feel for their characters, me included. I know the Games are the best part but I don't want to rush through everything and not have a good idea for everyone's character. Since this is my first time doing a SYOT, I would rather take a bit of time seeing what I like and don't like when it comes to writing Pre-Games chapters for future reference.**

**There will be two Pre-Reapings, two Reapings, two Goodbyes, two Train Rides, Chariot Rides, three days of Training, Private Sessions, Scores, two Interviews and Night Before/ Morning. That's the format I'm aiming for in case you were wondering.**

**The reason why this chapter and the next will take longer than I want is because I have exams at school until the 23rd so that's my first priority. **

**I'm also going to start writing as part of a collab. It's being published on bobothebear's page so when submissions open on the 25th, you should all go and submit. And don't worry, it won't affect GoD, it's just something on the side~**

**So yeah, don't expect another update before the 25th although after that, I'll do my best to try and update regularly.**

**I'm still looking for a permanent beta so if you know anyone who wouldn't mean committing to a full SYOT or is a good beta in general, you can send me a PM with all the info.**

**That's it, I know it's a long author's note but shit had to be explained, so I had to do it. If you could review, that would be appreciated, especially the submitters of these three. I'm interested in seeing what you thought about my characterization.**

**Okay, that's everything done so I'll see ya when I see ya~**

**-Heather**


	5. Pre-Reapings: A Beautiful Lie

**Pre-Reapings: A Beautiful Lie**

* * *

"_Swing me these sorrows. And try delusion for a while. It's such a beautiful lie._

_You've got to lose inhibition - Romance your ego for a while."_

* * *

_**Luminessa Rosen, District Five Female, 16**_

* * *

The man whose attention I seek is currently fully absorbed by his work. So much of his focus is taken up the sheets of paper that lay strewn around him that he doesn't see me standing two feet away from his desk. In the majority of cases, I would have waited patiently for him to notice me. However, this is not one of those times.

Putting on my best smile, I say in a clear voice, "Excuse me, sir."

The older man raises his head to face me and he greets me with a quizzical expression. He puts down his pen before bringing his two hands together.

"Yes, Luminessa?" The mayor asks, granting me his full attention

"Mayor Pollock, I was wondering if there was, perhaps anything else I could help with? Seeing as I have already finished filing away the energy production reports and there seems to be no more peacekeeper expense forms that need to be immediately addressed."

For a moment, he seems to consider everything I've told him as if it was extremely important to District Five's future. It isn't, but I suppose I appreciate him at least attempting to take me seriously.

"Luminessa," Mayor Pollock begins, his voice showing signs of stress and tiredness. "You realise that you don't have to speak so… properly to me?"

I answer back with a short, curt, "Yes, I do recognise that."

Traditionally, I refrain from speaking to the mayor unless it is completely necessary. In politics, there is no need for small talk or other pointless endeavors. You should only speak when you must. In order to achieve what you want, you must say the correct thing at the correct time. Everything else is meaningless in terms of the grand scheme.

"I understand that you want to make it into politics or business when you get older, but do you not think you should be enjoying your youth? There's plenty of time to act like an adult later in life. You don't have to start acting this mature while you're still young."

I fight back the urge to say something in my defense, some form of scathing remark has already started to fizz up at the back of my throat but I swallow it down. No, I'm not going to try and say some sort of moronic, juvenile comeback as that would just go on to prove his point.

Intelligence doesn't react, it initiates. Our intelligence is what separates us from the animals that roam around the alleyways in the dark shadows, surviving on instinct and instinct alone. They do not live like we do. They only survive.

Even those of the lower classes and lesser intelligence, they just survive. Yes, they believe they are living their lives as best they can, though surely going through life just reacting to whatever happens isn't really living. You need to plan ahead in life in order to succeed.

And if there is one thing I will achieve, it is success.

Mayor Pollock unclasps his hands, using the right one to fix his glasses. Behind them, his eyes are looking at me as if for the first time, they study me and my features, most likely searching for some trace of the youth I have long since tried left behind.

"I don't have anything left for you to do, and it's getting late so I think you should go home. I'll call Macie and tell her you've left the office. Just try to get home quickly, you know how much she worries."

With that, he immediately returns to his work, the conversation we just had being erased from existence. Part of me wants to argue back, though yet again, I see through the need to react without thought. I give a little bow, mumbling a small thank you to him for letting me stay the entire day, although I know he only does because he's known my father for such a long time. Although, I still thank him for he treats me as an adult.

Saying that, part of the reason, if not the whole reason, Mayor Pollock raised his concern about my lack of immaturity specifically today is because tomorrow just happens to be Reaping Day and despite how much I would like to deny it, my name is going to be in the bowl. A total of five slips for my family has no need for the tesserae, nonetheless, it is only a single slip that is needed to curse a person to certain death. The risk will always be there, no matter how low it is.

My bag's strap sits nicely on my shoulder and with my jacket in my arms, I make my way out of the justice building, smiling at the receptionist who responds with the same courteous smile she's give everyone who enters and leaves on her watch, I having been on the receiving end when I entered the building early this morning.

The sun can barely be seen, only the very top lays above the horizon, casting the sky around it in a soft, orange glow that bleeds outwards until the typical light blue is the dominant colour once again, leaving all that is in between a mix of the two. A gentle and warm breeze brushes my exposed arms as I walk through the streets to my home. It's nice. Not very interesting but nice.

I'm about five, ten minutes from my house when I hear footsteps running up behind me, a voice calling out for me.

"Luminessa!"

Turning around, I find it's a boy from my class. His name is… Torrance, I think? He greets me with a grin as if he's really happy to see me which is weird, considering I don't think I've ever even had a conversation with him. Saying that, no one in my class can really hold a proper conversation with me anyway, so it's not really surprising that we've never spoken

Torrance doesn't say anything. Is he expecting me to start off some sort of casual chit-chat? Somehow, he must be able to hear what am I thinking as he starts grinning again and laughing at nothing.

"I'm sorry, I just saw you walking up the street and well," He pauses for a second, probably needing to think over he's going to say next. It would have been better if he had done that in the fifteen seconds it took him to run up to me but hey, nobody's perfect.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go to a party with me, y'know, if there was nothing else you had to do. It's just a dumb thing because it's the last day before the reaping and anyone who wants to go can so, I was just wondering if you wanted to go with me ?" Torrance finishes, his eyes filled with a hope that combined with the joyful grin are making me wonder if he's being serious or not. Is this a joke or is it real? I can't tell.

My cheeks are blushing and I can't think of what to do or what to say and he's still looking at me that with that hopeful look and I can't do this, not now.

"I'm sorry," I stammer out as I make eye contact with his jaw and his hair and his nose and anything, anything except his eyes. "But I need to go home, my mother will be worrying about me, and I need to go. Sorry."

If he made an attempt to stop me, I either didn't hear it or perhaps I didn't stay around long enough for him to try. I waste no time in racing home and slamming the door behind me. Hopefully, mother will be too busy shouting at me for slamming the door to notice my cheeks are red not because I'm out of breath. No, they're red out of sheer embarrassment.

How dare he make me feel like this. All flustered and out of my depth. That isn't what I am like. I'm always in control. Always in a place above them. My intelligence doesn't allow me to sit on the same level as everyone else.

If that is the truth though, then why couldn't it save me then? From my rosy cheeks and embarrassed self. Why did it let me fall to Torrance's level? To the level of my peers. Of normal people.

I don't understand why it couldn't keep me above them. That's all it had to do. It only had to let me look down on my fellow man.

* * *

_**Desmond Wallace, District Three Male, 18**_

* * *

Sometimes, I wonder if these people are even real. They act all joyous and carefree. An attitude that reeks of reckless abandonment, that reeks of excess and doing things for the simple reason of why not. I hate to even associate myself with them, but appearances must be kept up and it would look absolutely awful if the youngest son of the Wallace family wasn't there to drink punch and complain about the poor along with them.

I suppose I'm being hypocritical though, because I still try to make good impressions when I meet people. A strong handshake and a welcoming smile, I guess it's because I am just too well-mannered, too polite to be rude to people. Or maybe it's because I care too much about how I come off to others. Who knows? Well, I should.

That doesn't change the fact that I don't enjoy these parties for all of them are the same. Every single one of these damned parties are a masquerade ball where you don't show your true self. That person is left at the door while you lose yourself in the occasion and act like the parrot these people want you to be. Repeating their opinions and their thoughts until not a single original idea remains inside your mind.

Everyone here wants to be someone different, someone higher up the social ladder. Yes, they are among the most influential and rich people here in District Three, but of course, that isn't enough. Even the least ambitious among them wish to take the step up to the Capitol. They want to experience the legendary Captiolite parties for themselves. To be accepted into the highest, and most fantastical circle in the whole of Panem.

But that is all it is, a fantasy. An unobtainable dream.

I've taken my usual perch when it comes to parties, leaning next to the wall that marks out the rooftop garden which is the only thing separating me from a fall to my death. I try and keep out of the way. I don't really like dealing with strangers at the best of times never mind when there is a concerning amount of alcohol flowing around in their veins.

It probably won't be long before my brother or sister come to whisk me away, either to introduce me to someone who'll probably only end up remembering me as the other Wallace child or to tell me my father wants me to come and meet the other Wallace child.

They remember Damien because he's the oldest and is most likely going to inherit another one of his many business partners who again, will only remember me as the family company from our father once he passes on. They remember Ella because it's hard to forget the person who is probably the most intelligent mind you've ever met, and will ever meet in your life.

I'm simply there in the background, doing my best. It's just unfortunate that my best isn't good enough. That's just the one of the side effects of growing up in a highly competitive family I suppose, a household where the best isn't so much asked for but demanded. Never did it affect how I thought about my siblings as it wasn't their fault that I couldn't find my space in life, a place where I truly belonged. It was up to me to find where that might be, and me alone.

I know for a fact though that the place I seek is not here, in this extraordinarily self-indulgent excuse for a social gathering. As far back as my memory takes me, there has always been a party the night before the Reaping Day and then after the Reaping itself had taken place, there is another party to celebrate the start of the Hunger Games. It's the closest they get to feeling like the Capitol citizens they desire to be. The Games themselves aren't the thing they care for; it's the occasion surrounding them. The build-up itself. They are Captiolites, or at least they try to be.

Let's go back to this idea of parties book-ending the Reaping. In a way, it kind of makes sense in that twisted way some things do. Practically everyone in the District knows that Capitol favours the upper class. One or two have even called out the mayor for bias, for sacrificing their children so the higher end of society can live consequence free. Safe to say, they were swiftly silenced.

The people here truly act like they don't care about what happens to others. They are concerned with the existence of their community and their community only. I'm not sure if this is right anymore though.

Are they truly ignorant of the lower class who struggle to survive while they are too busy riding the waves of celebration to notice? Perhaps they really do just not care enough to notice, those savages are below them in both social and economic status therefore they aren't worth the effort of caring.

I think that, however, the genuine truth is this; the adults act this way because they wish to forget what happened. They want to erase the war, act like it never existed. The everlasting stench of burning death follows them wherever they go and no matter how hard they try, they will never be rid of it. Alcohol and a forced upbeat look on life can't cover it up for long. It is a temporary solution for a permanent problem.

The only success this fool's fantasy has brought them is now, their children live in a world of their own. A world that lacks the consequences of reality and knowledge of the past. They all have the same future to look forward to; one which consists of them being part of the family business until they die at which point their children will take it over and so on and so forth.

Never has that been an option for me. I don't know what I want to do with my life. I do know one thing though, and that is that I don't want to work in the family business. My lack of interest in it has always been clear for anyone to see. It's the reason I'm thankful for Damien's desire to work in the business, because of that, I've always had the choice of whether I wanted to work with my father or not.

And always, I have politely refused the offer.

The glass in my hand has long been empty when my sister comes to find me. She grabs me by the wrist and begins pulling me along before she even tells me where it is we're going.

"Desmond, come here, I need you to meet this man. When he was younger, he used to perform research on the viability of solar power to power Panem. He's part of the reason we have electricity so readily available-"

Ella carries on rambling about how this man helped to change the future of Panem and I nod at the appropriate moments even if I am not really listening. Keeping up with her requires so much effort that I am not willing to spend right now.

I'm kind of looking forward to tomorrow's party if I am being honest. Once I've reached it, no longer will I have the slight risk of being reaped over my head. I will be free to get on with my life and decide just what it is I want to do.

Might as well start planning for it now.

* * *

_**Carney Herrone, District Eight Female, 15**_

* * *

Whatever is shaking me better stop soon. The weightlessness, the floating feeling that accompanies the ever engulfing darkness of sleep, is too pleasant to reject. It's sliding off with every shake of the shoulders, but I would much rather grip onto what's left on my skin. Let the job finish itself, there's no need to rush. No need to tear myself from sleep. At least, none that I can think of.

Something is happening along with the movement now. After every two or three shakes, almost in sync with the fourth, a voice, one that happens to be familiar, echoes throughout the nothing that is being slowly filled by the light. Drop by drop.

Each drop sounds familiar, they're landing with a soft splash that is sounding more and more like Carney every time the ripple they cause floats pass me. The gaps between the drops are becoming shorter and shorter. It's not long before the once delicate drops become a raging torrent, crashing into the ground in front of me at such a pace that I can't help but open my tired eyes to them. Their insistent calling of my name doesn't allow me to do anything else.

Blinking rapidly in an attempt to shake off the last remaining particles of sleep, part of me wants to catch them. They would only end up slipping through my fingers though, so I ignore that thought and instead, I open my eyes to the world that surrounds me. The first thing that bothers to greet me is the same one that was calling my name earlier, my older brother, Tarren.

"Took you long enough, I thought I was going to have to chuck another alley-cat at you."

I make a noise that is suppose to sound like "Uh-huh". It comes out more like an undecipherable mumble. Lucky for me, Tarren has come to learn over the years about my early speech, he can probably speak it better than I can.

"I'm probably gonna end up getting you a cat alarm for your birthday. It seems like the only thing guaranteed to get you up," Tarren remarks to try and get a reaction. Safe to say, it doesn't work. I'm still leaning against the rather unclean wall, underneath my blanket that passes for a cover in this warm, spring weather. Even on the streets, it's too hot to have a proper duvet so most of the kids here just use thin blankets. My eyes are darting everywhere, just like they always are. They need to make sure they don't miss anything.

"Carney."

Raising my head to look at my older brother, I gaze at him with interest. Both of his hands are behind his back and while that can be seen as normal, he isn't the type to stand like that for he lacks the politeness and poise to do so. Since the reason for Tarren having his hands behind his back can't be out of manners, it must be because he is trying to hide something.

"What are you hiding behind your back?" I question immediately.

Most people would show some sign of shock. A stammer, a slight freeze, that millisecond of panic that surfaces in their eyes before it sinks again. Tarren doesn't. He carries on with just a small upturn of his lips and a joyful spark in his eyes.

"What do you think it is?"

I pause for a moment, considering the question. Considering whether or not it was actually worth trying to answer it. It doesn't take me long to decide that it isn't worth it all. The uninterested look on my face must have let Tarren know that I wasn't going to try guessing as he lets out an unmotivated sigh. His eyes conflict with the sigh though; they're playful and bright, just like how Tarren always is with me. He brings forward his right hand first. Gripped inside his fingers is the neck of a rather large green bottle that most likely holds some sort of cheap alcohol that makes up the majority of our fluids. Despite the amount of inheritance we were left from our now dead father who most likely got some of it from our always dead mother, never have we wanted to splash out on the finer things in life. The cheap and simple stuff does us just fine.

"Of course, that would have been my number one guess," I comment, reaching for the bottle and leaning forward on my knees in order to reach it. However, Tarren pulls it away from my hand, moving it from side-to-side as he does in some sort of gesture that is probably suppose to mean "Be patient. Not yet."

"Yeah but would you have guessed this?" Tarren move his other hand out from behind his back and unclasps his fingers, revealing a bright pink bow. I can't help but stare at it for a few seconds, all of my attention suddenly gravitated towards this admittedly unexpected surprise.

"I'm going to be honest here," I begin, my eyes remaining focused on the bow. "And say that, for once, you were right."

"Wow, I'll need to hold onto that one for a while, I hardly ever get one over on you."

Under the weight of my brother's victorious gaze, I decide that it is now time for me to actually get up. I push the blanket off my lap and lift myself off the ground. Wiping down my hands on the worn, black tights that I wear while sleeping, I direct my glare from Tarren's face to the bottle, then to the bow before going back to Tarren's face. He must have read my expression pretty easily since it doesn't take him long to answer my non-verbal question.

"If you wear the bow to the Reaping, I'll let you have the whole bottle to yourself. Well, what's left after we've had a couple of swigs."

That's it? I was expecting something a bit more difficult to be honest. I've done dumber things while I've been drunk and I've done dumber things for the sake of drink. Alcohol just happens to bring out the reckless part of me, the person who doesn't worry about tomorrow. Just what's going to happen tonight.

I stretch out my arm and open my hand which Tarren swiftly drops the bow into.

"You better only mean a couple of swigs."

"I'm a man of my word," Tarren replies, his immature joy obvious for anyone within twenty feet to see.

"You're barely a man, Tarren," I say calmly, trying to fix the clasp of the bow into my long, blonde hair as I speak.

"Carney. I'm eighteen."

"Yeah," Fixing the clasp into place, I shift the bow around a little bit just so it feels better. Once I'm done that, I turn back to face Tarren who has been waiting patiently for me to continue where I left off. I can do nothing but oblige. "You said it yourself. You're eighteen, that's what makes you not a man."

Before he can say anything in his defense, I snatch the unopened bottle from his hand. Part of him must have been expecting it though, I didn't so much tear it away from Tarren as much as he let it go.

"Don't worry yourself, you'll be a man after today's Reaping is over. After all," Putting the bottle into my mouth, I bite the top and crack off the lid, spitting it onto the ground in the most un-lady like of ways. I take a drink from still fizzing liquid, the taste already making me feel more relaxed. I look up to meet Tarren's gaze, a small smile playing on the side of my lips. "You have to be a kid to be reaped into the Games. Once today's finished, I'll admit you're a man. Barely."

An ungrateful humph follows and I can't help but laugh a little. Tarren's eyebrows knit together as I skip past him, shoving the bottle into his unsuspecting hands.

"Carney-" He begins but I cut him off.

"We're gonna be late and I don't want the cameras to miss my fantastic bow," My hand pets the aforementioned bow in a delicate manner. "So hurry up and take your drink. Otherwise, I'm going to leave you behind."

I carry on with a slight skip in my step out of the alleyway, the only other noise being a couple of loud gulps from behind me.

I smile. Not for any particular reason at all. Maybe it's because I'm going to go the Reaping with a bright pink bow that'll make me stand out since it will most likely be the only piece of colour for miles around. Yeah, I'll say that's the reason.

* * *

_**Song used for Pre-Reapings: "Illuminated" by Hurts.**_

* * *

**Yes, your eyes do not deceive you. This is an update.**

**I hate making excuses, they just annoy me but I feel like I kind of need to give a reason for not updating.. To put it simply, the end of January was really, really bad. Then February was really bad and March has been just bad so, at least there's been some improvement. **

**I'm aware this chapter isn't my best. I just felt like if I sat on it any longer, I would never get it finished. Hopefully, this signals the start of more regular updates but I have exams coming up soon so yeah, they are unfortunately a thing.**

**Don't worry though, this story is still a thing and I'll get it finished. If you could leave a review about the tributes, my writing or just your general thoughts, I would really like that.**

**That's all I have to say. Reapings are up next but apart from that, I guess I'll see ya when I see ya~**

**-Heather**


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